


Losing the Bubble

by datalaur



Series: Deus ex Machina [10]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Amnesia, Bad Decisions, Heavy Angst, Injury, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Past Sexual Assault, Stupidity, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22495081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/datalaur/pseuds/datalaur
Summary: Since Lore assaulted him, Bruce Maddox has been telling himself that everything's fine. Turns out, not so much.Set in 2372, about two weeks afterBuck UpandOPREP PINNACLE.If you need help for your anxiety or depression or whatever, please don't be afraid to reach out.
Relationships: Bruce Maddox & original characters, Data/Bruce Maddox, Lore/Bruce Maddox
Series: Deus ex Machina [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595050
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Crush Depth

**Author's Note:**

>   
> _Countdown to the story  
>  you're not allowed to speak  
> Stop along the highway,  
> something's sprung a leak  
> Keep your neck adjusted  
> Vanity break  
> Turn your head away  
> 'cause it's more than  
> you can take  
> And you start to walk  
> until you start to run  
> 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1_  
>   
> \- Deborah Pardes, _[7654321](https://youtu.be/veW4lhgQrlE)_

At first he ignores the uneasy feeling. 

Then Bruce tells himself to stop being paranoid. No one is in the lab with him. It's just his imagination. He's alone, working late, just like so many evenings before, and there are only the familiar noises of shutdown equipment cooling off, the faint shush of air going through the microfilters, the barely audible hum and throb of powered equipment. Anything else is just his imagination.

Then the cyberneticist involuntarily glances over his shoulder at the vacant lab behind him. Everything is as it should be. No one's there. There's nothing wrong.

A minute later he turns in his seat and checks again, more carefully. 

Still nothing, yet the sense of dread has grown so strong that the hair on the back of his neck goes up. 

But he still doesn't see anything amiss, so Bruce tells himself to buck the hell up. He needs to focus, so he can tease out the flaw in the subroutine, some subtle logic error that's been evading his distracted mind all week.

A few minutes later, Bruce's head jerks up. Okay, that? That was definitely a carefully placed, stealthy footfall. 

His nerve breaks. Hampered by his bad leg, Bruce bolts for the far side of the lab, for the safety of his office. Expecting any instant to be seized by impossibly strong hands, he works frantically to input his code with shaking fingers while the security system automatically reads his badge and biometrics. 

The door slides open and he falls inside.

It closes.

On the deck just inside the sealed door, Bruce fumbles for his combadge. Flinching at its activation chirp, he whispers, "Security alert."

"Secur--"

"Shhhh!"

"Sir?" 

"Intruder, cyber, lab, three," he pants. It's so hard to breathe. "Lore."

"On our way."

He knows Lore shouldn't be able to get in his office; Data validated the design himself. After his escape from the lab, Lore should never have been able to get back into the lab either, but no one has figured out yet how Lore broke out. So how can they possibly stop him from coming back for revenge?

There's nowhere to hide in the office, not even a storage closet, so Bruce scuttles under his desk. He yanks his shirt up over his nose and mouth, and covers it with his hands to muffle the sound of his breathing. 

The chest pain gets even worse, and Bruce realizes he's having a heart attack. 

Turns out Lore won't even have to lay a finger on him to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider leaving kudos or constructive criticism to help me work on weak areas.


	2. Boxing the Compass

"Dr. Maddox?"

There's a security officer kneeling by his desk, looking in at him. More legs behind her.

"Hey sir, it's Kat. Remember me? Crewman Katsoros?"

Bruce has no idea who she is. 

"Lore?" he pants. 

"He's not here. You're safe, sir. I promise." She looks back at the others. "Wait outside, all right?"

The petite security officer turns back to him, and starts to scan him with her tricorder. "Just try to breathe normally, sir. Slow. Slow. Look at me. Look at me. Like this." She takes a long indrawn breath through her nose and lets it out through her mouth just as slowly. "Like that, okay?" 

The young woman smiles at his effort. "Yeah, keep doing that. Hang on a sec. I'll get you some water."

When Kat comes back, she kneels down on the deck and holds out a small glass for him to take. The lukewarm water sloshes all over but she doesn't seem to notice how badly he's shaking, and Bruce gratefully drinks what's left. 

"The doctor is going to be here soon. Can you come out? It's safe. Your chair is right here. Right here."

Bruce hesitantly clambers up into the chair she holds in place.

"Good. Now can you fix your shirt? Pull it down. Tuck it in. Yes. Now straighten your lab coat. That's good. Now wipe your face with this. There, you look fine. Are you feeling better?"

He's not nearly as dizzy and the chest pain is easing off. "I.. I think I'm having a heart attack."

"Not according to my scan, but the doctor will make sure. I bet it really felt like one, though. Your chest hurt? You couldn't catch your breath? Yeah." The petite brunette smiles encouragingly as he nods. 

The door slides open and a tall, solidly built man in blueshirt enters.

Bruce scrambles clumsily out of the chair and gets it between him and Glover. "No! Not you." 

The physician sets down the gray hardshell medkit on the desk and picks out the medscanner and a hypokit. "It's night shift, Bruce. I'm the only doctor on duty." Glover throws a glance at the young security officer. "You can go, Kat. Thanks."

"I want her to stay." There is no way he's being left alone with this hypo-happy bastard.

"Fine by me." Glover flips open the medical tricorder. "Let's see what's going on."

"I'm warning you, Glover, don't you fucking touch me." The cyberneticist balls up his fists, yet he can't seem to keep himself from backing away.

"Dr. Glover, could I try? I think Dr. Maddox will let me scan him. Just like I did a few minutes ago. You know I won't touch you, Dr. Maddox. You know that, right?" 

Bruce's back hits the bulkhead and he can't answer because there's no air left. The room is spinning sickeningly. The lights dim to emergency and Lore whispers _mine_ as the android's harsh fingers imprint ownership on his skin. 

"Come _on_ , Kat, get the chair. Hold it. All right. Head between your knees, Bruce." 

Something's pushing his shoulders, making Bruce flop forward. Through the warbling scan pattern, he hears Kat telling him to breathe. Slow. Slow. Slow. 

The tunnel vision starts to widen out and Bruce wipes the stinging sweat out of his eyes with a trembling hand. He vaguely realizes Glover's next to his chair, holding him in place. 

"Keep your head down. There you go. Just keep taking long, slow breaths." The doctor's voice is soft. Meant to be reassuring, and that in itself is a warning. "Kat, get me twenty ccs melorazine, please."

Bruce has heard that before, and it cuts sharp across the mental fog. His head wobbles up. He uses the only weapon he has. "No. I don't consent."

"Relax. We'll go to Sickbay in a minute."

"I don't consent!" He pulls weakly against Glover's steadying grip. "Get your hands off me." 

The doctor lets go, so Bruce sags back in the chair and takes a shaky breath. "I don't consent to any of this. Go away. Just go away."

Glover sighs. "You know I can't do that. I know this is very frightening for you. You're disoriented. You're having a panic attack. Tell me, have you been having flashbacks to the night Lore assaulted you?"

Aghast at the breach, Bruce looks from the doctor to the young woman. "No. He didn't. He didn't."

"Bruce, Kat was there. She conducted your initial assessment that night, just like tonight. We only want to help you."

"I don't need your help. Just... just leave me alone. I'll be fine in a minute." 

"Fine? This is you being fine? Think about it, Bruce. You don't want to play it this way. Come on now. Be reasonable." 

_"_ Fuck! _"_ The cyberneticist remembers exactly what comes next for those who aren't reasonable. He places his palms flat on his thighs. "Please. You don't have to knock me out. I'm not a danger to you or myself. I'll cooperate. Just--" He searches his memory. "You could use a little improvoline instead. Please."

"All right, we can start with that and see how you do. Bring me five ccs, Kat." 

"No. Two point five." He needs to keep his wits about him, if he doesn't want to Glover to force him into hospitalization for his own good.

"If you stay in Sickbay tonight for observation."

And there it is. "I don't consent. I'm lucid. You can't make me stay." 

"No, but I can order you to a Fitness for Duty exam tomorrow. So if you don't want to go to Sickbay, you will report to Dr. Nguyen at 1300, understand me? I would make it 0900 but I want you to get some sleep first."

Bruce laughs in despair and disbelief. This fucking idiot. If he could sleep, none of this would be happening. 

Glover is studying him. "The alpha wave's not doing the job? All right, I'll give you a somnetic inducer and another half dose of improvoline to take home, for just before bed."

"Okay." Bruce gnaws an already-ragged thumbnail, and debates whether to ask. He wouldn't give Glover the ammunition, but the lure of solid sleep is too much to resist. He'll need it to get past the psych part of the exam. "I'm out of asinolyathin."

The doctor looks over the tricorder results again. He frowns. "You can't just increase your dose like that. Dr. Nguyen will address your medications tomorrow, but I'll give you a little extra, just for tonight, understand?" He takes the kit and the hypo from Kat, and draws up the additional medication.

Glover reaches towards Bruce's neck, and the cyberneticist's fear spikes. "Stop, stop, please, don't!"

"This is what we just agreed on. Improvoline, 2.5 ccs. Asinolyathin, 10 ccs. Right?" 

Kat speaks up. "Doctor, could you maybe let him check it for himself?"

Glover looks at her, eyebrows raised. "Normally patients don't handle the hypospray. But sure, I could make an exception, if that's what you want?" He holds out the hypo. 

Bruce snatches it. 

The doctor holds up his hands and retreats to lean against the desk. 

Keeping one eye on Glover, Bruce checks the readout. To his surprise, the doctor was actually telling the truth: it's only the sedative and the muscle relaxant/pain killer. Not enough of the latter, but it will have to suffice. Bruce drags a sleeve across his sweaty face, then jams the hypo against his bicep.

"Okay, carotid would have been faster, but that works too, I guess. Just sit there and give it a couple minutes to kick in. Kat, can you get him some water?"

She brings a bigger glass this time. 

He's tempted to drink it all, but with his stomach so queasy, the cyberneticist forces himself to take just a few slow sips before handing the glass back.

Soon Bruce sighs. He imagines he can feel the potent drugs starting to flood his mind and body, and closes his eyes and slumps back in exhaustion. His brain chemistry is being altered, and it should bother him that he can't remember the details: something to do with gamma-aminobutyric acid. Nerve receptor bindings. Inhibitory action. Neurotransmitter slowdown. But the only thing that really matters is that the fear and tension and anxiety are starting to slough away. 

"Kat, I'd like to speak privately to Dr. Maddox. And if you would, send someone over to Sickbay for his scripts. Thanks." 

"You're welcome, Dr. Glover," the security officer replies before stepping out.

"Bruce, you should drink some more." The doctor holds out the water. "Can you talk to me a little?" Dr. Glover is smiling encouragingly as Bruce sips cautiously. "What were you doing alone in the lab so late?"

"I have work to catch up on." Especially now. After a week's medical leave, he was so far behind and since then it's only gotten worse. He's been so scattered and dazed that he hasn't managed to accomplish much of anything. People have noticed. He's got to get back on top of his game.

"You have to know this isn't a good idea for you right now. This lab is full of triggers. This is where it happened. It was late like this. You were alone with Lore." The doctor's eyes are pitying, which makes it all so much worse. 

"But--" Bruce starts, then breaks off. 

It's hopeless. Counselors, doctors, none of them understand, and he's much too tired to try explaining. Besides, what can he say that fits into their image of a sexual assault victim? What they all want is _I tried my best to stop him. I fought back as hard as I could. I hated him touching me._

None of that is true, or at least not true enough. The memory of that night is hazy and disjointed, but some moments stand out all too clearly. He had been humiliatingly docile in Lore's rough grip. He had just let Lore kiss him breathless, let Lore say nasty things while he got hard from Lore's hand moving on him, Lore's erection pressed against his hip. Worst of all, Lore's teeth in his neck, ruining the love mark that Data had given him. 

Bruce had tried admitting some of it to the counselor but he finally gave up when she kept saying that those things didn't matter; it wasn't his fault. It _was_. Not all of it, but more than enough for shameful culpability. 

"Listen to me," Glover says sharply enough that the cyberneticist is startled out of his despairing introspection. "Sexual assault is a terrible thing and it can happen to anyone. It happened to you and it wasn't your fault."

What the hell does Glover know? When Lore grabbed him that night, he should have done more to resist. He had never even thought of going for Lore's off switch. Probably that wouldn't have worked, but the point is that he hadn't even tried, and what does that say about him? If Data ever finds out...

"You need to go back into counseling." The doctor is relentless. "Your mind was playing tricks on you tonight."

That gets Bruce's attention. "You're saying I imagined it? Lore wasn't really here?"

"No, I don't think he was. First off, he's not stupid enough to come back. And second, the security team wouldn't let me in until they cleared the area. I'm sure they're checking everything carefully, but at least initially there's no sign of any intruder."

"I heard him. I did. I _know_ I did." 

"Maybe, but at least admit there's a chance that you only thought you heard him. No, listen to me. You're under a tremendous amount of stress after a traumatic event. Anyone would need professional help in that circumstance. All you have to do is allow us to help you."

Bruce wants to believe it, and Glover makes it sound so easy, but it isn't. They think that saying no to Lore absolved him of all responsibility, all guilt, all of the consequences. It doesn't. It just doesn't. 

"I don't want to talk about this any more," Bruce finally says. "I just want to go home and sleep."

"Come to Sickbay instead. I promise I'll have you sleeping like a baby in ten minutes."

It's so very tempting. He has to hand it to Glover; the doctor actually sounds like he cares. But anything could happen once he's under their control, and he's never spending another second in any fucking hospital.

"No. I want to go home." All he needs is some sleep. Some time and privacy to pull himself back together so he can pass the damned Fitness for Duty exam, or better yet, find a way around it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Hate it? Please consider leaving constructive criticism.


	3. Spun Up

The spring night is breezy and clear, with the second moon already rising. Normally it would be a pleasant if challenging twenty-five minute walk to Bruce's aircar. Instead, the duty officer's insistence on an escort had dumped an extra helping of humiliation on his long and shitty day. 

To make things even worse, Bruce feels absurdly safer with Katsoros at his side -- as if anything less than a full squad of armed security officers would make any difference to Lore. That it's the friendly young guard who volunteered for escort duty is a relief, tempered by the knowledge that if something does happen, he'll be the reason she gets hurt or killed. Bruce considers asking her to promise to save herself and just let Lore go ahead and do whatever he's planning to do to him, but Katsoros doesn't seem the type to agree with that. 

The drag of fatigue increases the strain on his bad leg, and Bruce already regrets not having had the sense to just transport directly home. Considering the inadequate dose of muscle relaxant Glover gave him, the leg twitches are a warning. It's going to be rough getting himself to the Transportal that beams pedestrians directly to the central transport hub. Making it all the way from the hub to his aircar's berth, though... not happening.

Well, it won't be the first time he's had to change plans because of his leg. Now that he thinks of it, using a public aircar will get Katsoros out of the line of fire that much quicker. 

As they approach the fountain, Bruce surreptitiously looks around, then asks Katsoros if she minds stopping. Fortunately, she doesn't, and Bruce sits down on the carved stone edge with a sigh of relief. Bending over, he sets the small packet from Sickbay on the ground, and starts in on the painful knots in his right calf.

He's grateful Katsoros doesn't push for conversation; unlike Data, Bruce abhors wasting time with small talk. While he works on his leg, he listens carefully for anything suspicious, but the cool night air is filled only with the soft sounds of water, occasional rustling of new leaves, and the peeping calls of chorus frogs in the distance. 

Eventually it occurs to Bruce that he really ought to thank the young woman. "Crewman Katsoros?"

"You can call me Kat, sir. Everyone does."

"Kat, then. You've been very kind. Very helpful during... well, everything. I want to thank you for that."

"You're welcome, sir. I'm really glad that I could help you." She hesitates, then blurts, "Can I tell you something, sir?" 

He stops massaging his thigh and looks at her warily. Kat is staring at her clasped hands in her lap. 

"Yes, of course. What is it?"

"I was in a... situation. Similar to you you. Three years ago. My coworker. I thought I could trust him."

"I'm so sorry." It's meaningless, but Bruce doesn't know what else to say. 

Kat keeps looking at her hands. "I was so afraid. Afterwards, all I could think about was, what did I do wrong? Did I lead him on? Did he think everything was okay because I didn't even try to stop him?"

She shakes her head. "I didn't tell anyone for a long time. I was sure that what happened must have been my fault." 

Kat looks at him then, just a quick side glance. "I think maybe you feel that way too."

His heart sinks; does she think he'll feel better if they sit around swapping details on how they were assaulted? Bruce starts on his thigh again, hoping she'll let the subject go if he doesn't respond.

"I'm not surprised you don't remember me being there that night. You were dazed from the concussion. Really out of it. So no matter what happened between you and Lore before-"

" _Nothing_ happened!" 

"I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't trying to imply you did anything inappropriate. I know you're dating his twin brother."

Bruce sighs in exasperation. "They're not _twins_. They're very different people. Lore's much younger, for one thing."

"Well, from what the lieutenant told us, you're lucky he didn't kill you. So I don't understand why you think you're to blame in any of this. He's a terrible person."

He shouldn't give her any more grist for the rumor mill, but Bruce can't leave her thinking that. "What Lore did in the past... it wasn't entirely his fault."

"He's a mass murderer!"

"He shouldn't really be held responsible for all that. His software was unstable, and later he had major hardware compatibility issues. It took quite a lot of work, but I was able to fix him."

"So why would he attack you, if you fixed him?"

"Look, Lore's sane now, but still suffering from some very serious emotional issues. For some pretty damn good reasons, I might add. He was due to start extensive psychological rehabilitation before he... well, left."

"Okay, then," Kat says. "He's emotionally disturbed. So doesn't that mean what Lore did wasn't your fault? You didn't encourage him and besides that, you weren't in any condition to consent. Please, please don't blame yourself."

She doesn't really get it, Bruce thinks despairingly. She's such a nice young woman; how could she possibly understand? 

Mentally resisting Lore, saying no, was one thing. His physical submission was something else entirely, and while many things about that night are confused, what's very clear to Bruce is the shameful way he responded to Lore's forceful touch. And never mind what that counselor said -- 'arousal is a natural physiological response to stimuli during sexual assault,' -- it feels like a bullshit excuse. 

It _is_ a bullshit excuse. He isn't a teenager anymore, to get hard from a grope or two. No, Lore's physicality had been terrifying but oh, how it had felt with his heart hammering wildly against his ribs, Lore's rough fingers branding his skin, those incredible suffocating kisses... 

Disgusting, that's what that frisson of desire had been. Weak. Twisted. Sick.

"Let's get going," Bruce says brusquely. He hauls himself to his feet and limps painfully away.

Kat catches up. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to upset you. It's all right if you're not ready to talk about it."

He grits his teeth and moves faster. 

*****

Flying over the moonlit sea is usually a relaxing way to end his long days. While the aircar's autopilot takes care of business, Bruce leans his head against the window and stares at the sea; the wavetops glimmer like diamonds in a mesmerizing and soothing natural fractal pattern. 

For years, watching the sea has been the most reliable way to trick his fast betawave-dominated brain into generating the slow alphas of wellbeing and relaxation. So far technology hasn't been any help; the alpha wave inducer he'd tried was worthless unless accompanied by a shot or two of vodka. Tonight, even the half dose of sedative and glittering wave patterns aren't doing anything to ease his racing mind. 

Giving up on unwinding, Bruce turns his thoughts to Kat. She's safe from Lore, at least for the time being. He will have to make damned sure he doesn't do anything to bring himself to Security's attention again, because she's the sort to keep endangering herself by trying to help. They had gotten lucky tonight, but Lore could strike any time and his first target would be any security escort. 

Bruce's breath catches as he realizes he's a sitting duck in the aircar. Lore could be tracking his combadge right this minute. He could get beamed out of the aircar, and there's not a damned thing he can do to prevent that. Or Lore's ship could have a tractor beam. In a matter of moments, the whole aircar could be dragged into a ship's cargo bay. 

Bruce reaches for the comm button to ask Control to run a sensor sweep, then hesitates when he notices his hand is shaking. He's got to do something about the rapidly spiraling anxiety. Maybe use the deep breathing again, so he doesn't sound like a hysterical idiot. He closes his eyes and focuses on the slow inhalation and slower exhalation.

All right. If he's wrong, calling Control will create yet another official record that will be used against him. Even if he's right, there's no one close enough to help anyway. And Lore can't possibly have tampered with the loaner's transponder so if Lore does attack, Control will have sensor data to establish what happened to his aircar. 

Forcing himself to continue the calming breaths, Bruce tells himself to get a grip. He needs to trust in the extreme care he put into repairing Lore's software. He needs to stop being so paranoid. 

Rationally, the odds are that Lore doesn't plan to kill him. But if he does -- if Lore has decided that Bruce poses enough of a threat to warrant killing him as an act of self defense -- or if Lore's decided to use him as bait or as punishment for Data, then there is nothing Bruce can do about it. Lore is smarter. Faster. Impossible to stop unless Bruce somehow gets in a shot from a phaser set on max. 

Bruce's queasy stomach churns at the very thought of harming Lore. No. He could never.

Besides, Data is hunting for Lore. Data is smarter and far more experienced. Surely Data will find his brother soon, and then he will make sure Lore gets the psychological rehab he so desperately needs. And somehow Data will convince Lore to help develop new tactics against the Borg. Bruce had planned to be the one working with Lore, but that's no longer possible. It will have to be Data, and that means Data has to give up any grudge against Lore.

Together the android brothers will save countless more starships and their crews from being pointlessly sacrificed in useless attempts to stop the Borg cubes, like Bruce's son Mihir on the _Bonestell_ had been sacrificed. Together Data and Lore will save entire colonies, entire solar systems from assimilation. Together they'll save the Federation from destruction. 

And just as important for the long run, Lore is the only person Data won't outlive. With virtually unlimited lifespans, the brothers are going to need each other over the centuries.

Given what's at stake, that really only leaves Bruce with one choice if he's going to make sure Lore can never use him again to hurt or manipulate Data.

He just needs to figure out how to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay or nay? Please consider leaving constructive criticism.


	4. Adrift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Izzat love?  
>  What I feel when you're in my arms  
> Make me die before I'd do you harm  
> If you're lost, you know I'd lead you home  
> If you're cold, you know I'll keep you warm  
> Am I wrong?  
> Or izzat love  
> When I dream there is no one else  
> In the end, who's your friend? Just myself  
> Izzat love to forget my pride,  
> to conceal how it feels deep inside  
> Am I wrong, or izzat love?_  
>    
> \- Todd Rundgren, [_Izzat Love?_](https://youtu.be/g2x_A0H-xwg)

"Fuck!"

He's looked everywhere, but somehow the small bag with his medication and the new somnetic inducer isn't in the aircar. Bruce isn't sure how the hell he lost the bag but going all the way back to search isn't feasible, not with the way his leg and hip feel. 

Popping the aircar door open, Bruce steps down a little too quickly onto the garage floor. He gasps as a sudden spasm wracks his right thigh; only his grip on the doorframe keeps him from falling. 

The waiting metal-skinned robot moves swiftly to Bruce's right, and slides a practiced arm around him. Leaning heavily on his personal assistant of nearly forty years, Bruce gingerly tries to work out the cramp. 

"Thanks, Tai. Any status change?"

"No, sir. Would you like to sit down?"

With Taisir's help, Bruce makes it to the nearby chair. The robot kneels gracefully and massages his thigh, while Bruce leans back and curses Glover under his breath. That son of a bitch had seen his asinolyathin tolerance, had even remarked on it, and then gave him a skimpy dose anyway. 

After the spasm finally starts to ease off, Bruce sighs with relief. "Stay with me, Tai, but I want you coordinating ops. Order all other units to begin patrolling. Calculate and set a minimal perimeter with optimal coverage, based on all sensor types and locations. Maintain continuous contact to immediately detect and alert on any unit becoming unresponsive."

The tall, sleek robot nods. "Aye, sir."

As a variety of general-purpose and specialized robots start to exit the garage's bay door, Bruce reviews each one's capabilities with a critical eye. Each is perfectly suited for its assigned duties of home or property upkeep, but Bruce had never anticipated the need for more than basic security. 

That had been a foolish oversight. He'll need to determine the necessary upgrades for the sensor net, and then settle on a design for sturdy, fast security robots good enough to take down an android. 

Perhaps an updated version of his well-regarded security robohounds... yes, a small pack could catch and safely hold Lore. Bruce's mind flashes back to what Riker had done at Data's hearing. The hounds' bite could be reprogrammed to properly grip and twist limbs, so as to literally disarm Lore without hurting him. 

But all that will take considerable time, effort and credits. Just what he needs, having to carve out time from his already overfilled days to negotiate and complete new work for his corporate partnership to earn credits. Still, needs must.

Bruce ponders going back to Daystrom for the night. Even considering whatever security flaws Lore had exploited in escaping and then returning, with its security force the annex will likely be safer than home. But it's already past 2300, so Bruce will have to go through the duty officer to request quarters. The last thing he feels like doing is explaining why his home isn't safe, and why the annex really needs to improve its security posture.

Not that the duty officer would believe any of it for a second. He would probably just call Glover, who'd be ready and waiting with his concerned face and a hypo full of melorazine.

Bruce decides it's worth the risk and saved time to stay home at least one more night. He can get dinner, deal with Data, clean up and be in bed before 2500, if he puts his mind to it. 

First things first, though. "Taisir, instruct all units to avoid contact with any type of intruder. None of you are designed to engage with hostiles and I do not want any of you damaged. The tasking is to patrol, observe and immediately report any incident. Only if explicitly so ordered will you converge and defend me, or contact the authorities. Understood?"

"Yes, Dr. Maddox."

"Good. Lock up and let's get in the house."

The porch stairs are a bitch, even with Tai's assistance, but at last they're inside. The house alarms are reset and Taisir verifies that all doors and windows are securely locked. 

Bruce decides to get the worst over with right away. He sits at the computer terminal and pulls up the template for a personal letter. He stares at length at the screen, confronted with the fact that he can't bring himself to write down the awful things he needs to tell Data. 

He hadn't meant to drink until he was ready for bed, but perhaps the alcohol will loosen his tongue. If nothing else, it might numb both the pain in his leg and the pain in his heart. He'll need something to eat too... yes, comfort food.

"Tai, please get me vodka. Some water. Also a _thali_ , including _papri chaat_ , _Naani_ Varma's _vindaloo_ , Diya's _dal makhani_ , _roti_ , and a _samosa_ , all right?" 

Taisir returns first with a chilled bottle, a poured shot and a tall glass of cold water, then heads for the replicator. 

Bruce takes a deep breath, then throws back the shot, chased by water to ease the unpleasant burning in his throat and empty stomach. He coughs, pours, then does it again before capping the bottle and setting it aside.

As he starts in on his late dinner, he rewatches the two messages Data had sent since the night Lore escaped, messages Bruce hasn't been able to bring himself to answer yet. 

Even as strained as things had been between them since the decision on Lore's reactivation, Data had been kind. Completely supportive. Of course he had said the sexual assault wasn't Bruce's fault, that Lore had attacked Bruce purely as a means to hurt their relationship. 

And Bruce understands all that. He does. The problem with all of it, including responding to Data's messages, is that Data doesn't suspect betrayal.

He has never wanted to lie to Data, and physiological tells aside, what he did would be a stupid thing to try to hide. Lore will surely tell Data at some point, if he hasn't already been gloating. Bruce reminds himself that, his disgusting failings aside, this has to be done, for Data's safety. _Has_ to. 

And if he's completely realistic, even before Lore, the odds were that his long distance relationship with Data was doomed in the long run, if Geordi had anything to say about it. And the engineer would make sure he had plenty to say about it. 

Any remaining sentiment makes Data vulnerable to Lore's machinations, whatever they might be. Therefore his relationship with Data has to be ended, and immediately. Decisively.

He has said many times that Data means everything to him. Well, it's time to man up and prove it. 

Bruce takes another double shot of liquid courage and starts writing.

*****

Writing the letter turned out to be much harder than he ever expected. 

After nearly an hour, Bruce wipes the stupidly persistent tears from his eyes. His behavior has been truly despicable. Data never deserved to be treated like that. Never.

Rubbing his forehead against the headache that's gotten only worse, Bruce takes another hearty slug from the bottle to get him over the last hurdle of his plan to save Data.

_Data,_

_When you turned down both my marriage proposal and my offer to accompany you on the_ Enterprise, _on the basis that we were not ready, I thought you were mistaken._

_However, time has shown that your decisions were indeed sound. Neither of us was ready for such serious commitment in a very new relationship._

_The time we have spent apart and recent events have led me to think a great deal about us, and my hopes for my future professional and personal life. Specifically, how those hopes fit in with a long distance and fundamentally ill-founded relationship. I have concluded that they are not compatible. Moreover, neither are we. Not from any flaw on your part; the fault is solely mine._

_I was blinded by the intensity and novelty of our sexual relationship and had foolishly convinced myself I was in love. I realize now that I was only infatuated._

_I should never have permitted myself to engage in such an self-indulgent and grossly unprofessional affair, nor taken advantage of your emotional vulnerability. I could go on at length over my many mistakes and poor judgment, but they speak loudly for themselves, and I expect you know my flaws better than I anyway._

_If not, ask Geordi, who saw clearly all along that I was the worst possible one for you._

_I wish I did not have to tell you this, but you should hear it from me instead of Lore. The truth is that Lore's attentions that night were not entirely unreciprocated. I can only blame my weak character and sordid desires._

_For what it is worth -- which is not much -- I'm truly sorry for this appalling betrayal. I do not deserve nor expect your forgiveness._

_At this time I intend to discontinue all work related to positronics and sentient artificial life. Furthermore, I will be resigning my position at Daystrom._

_My hope is that you will ensure your brother gets the help he needs, and that you will ultimately reconcile and work together for your mutual benefit, not least of which is defeating the Borg. It is no exaggeration to say that you and Lore are the single best hope that the Federation, indeed the whole Alpha quadrant, has of survival._

_For obvious reasons I think it best that all communications between us be completely severed, effective immediately._

_Bruce_

Before writing, he had not thought of leaving his life's work, of resigning from Daystrom, but now that the thought has occurred, it seems the only possible course of action. 

Bruce scrubs a sleeve across his wet cheeks, closes his eyes for a moment, then sends the transmission. All that remains is setting his comm system to automatically kick back any attempt at contact from Data. La Forge too, for good measure.

It's done.

As he rises from his seat, a wave of dizziness hits and Bruce leans on the desk to steady himself. He's more drunk than he thought; no wonder he's so damned weepy. 

_Better get to bed_ , he decides, and calls for Taisir's help. The robot effortlessly keeps him on his feet when he stumbles on the way to the recently converted ground floor bedroom.

As usual, a fresh sheet waits over the large bed, so Bruce can sit down immediately without dirtying it with his day clothes. "Tai, draw me a hot bath, please."

He's fumbled his lab coat and shirt off by the time the sleek metal robot returns.

"Help me undress, would you?" It had taken some work to program in all the personal aide duties necessitated by the accident, but it had been weeks since Taisir needed any tweaking. 

"Certainly, sir."

After Taisir puts the used items in the refresher, he assists the cyberneticist into the bathroom. At first Bruce had found the need for Tai's assistance humiliating, almost as unpleasant as being handled by the nurses, but by now it's just routine. While Taisir can recognize nudity, as a nonsentient there is no more meaning for the robot in seeing an unclothed adult than there was in changing Mihir's diapers, a quarter century back.

The robot waits impassively as Bruce tests the water temperature, then supports him as he cautiously steps into the whirlpool tub. 

"The bath's perfect, Tai. Thanks." Not really, but the overly hot water and pulsating jets will help relieve his aching muscles. "Look around the house while I'm soaking? Validate connectivity with everyone too." 

"Aye, sir." The robot departs.

A quick scrub of his hair, pits and bits -- washing his feet will have to wait til his leg has loosened up -- and Bruce turns on the jets. Closing his eyes, he leans back to let the buffeting water jets do their job. 

Normally his mind would still be racing, fretting over Data, or Lore, or over past mistakes and unsolved problems, but the alcohol is finally quieting his brain so that things don't seem as urgent. 

It's so nice, not having to think, and the churning water is so relaxing, especially with the pleasant way his skin's buzzing under the shifting jets. 

*****

The next thing he knows, Tai is dragging him out of the tub and then he's on his knees as the room spins, coughing until he throws up on Tai and himself. 

"Are you all right, Dr. Maddox?"

Bruce coughs and coughs, and tries to catch his breath. "Help me up."

Tai lifts him easily, and helps Bruce sit on the edge of the draining tub, right behind him. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Yes, fine, just go get some towels or something," Bruce slurs, looking down in dismay at the disgusting mess he's made. He flaps a hand at the hesitant robot. "Go on."

The way everything's moving makes Bruce feel like he's going to throw up again. He closes his eyes, but then he's tipping forward, and overcorrection makes him fall backwards. Bruce instinctively reaches back to try to catch himself, but his wrist gives out and he splashes into the remaining centimeters of water. The back of his head thunks hard on the bottom.

Tai is there, squatting in the nearly empty whirlpool tub next to Bruce, hand on his shoulder, before he can even think to say _Ow_. 

"Dr. Maddox. Dr. Maddox."

"Just give me a minute," Bruce mumbles. He touches the back of his head gingerly, then glances at his left hand. _No blood. All right._

He tries to push up to a sitting position in the deep tub, but sharp pain shoots up his arm. He examines his right hand and wrist, but they look okay. Just sprained, probably. At least it's his crappy arm.

 _Rub dirt on it and walk it off, buddy_ , his father advises. 

"Okay, dad," Bruce nods, before regretting moving his head. The foul acidic stink of vomit hits his nose. He looks down; he's covered in it. 

"Tai, help me sit up, but slowly." He blinks hard a few times, but the room still keeps moving. 

_You shouldn't have been drinking. Didn't I always tell you alcohol makes people stupid?_

Yes, Dad had told him that a thousand times, which was why Bruce rarely touched even synthehol. But he needed sleep so desperately. Couldn't a man have a drink or two to relax, in the privacy of his own home?

All right, he'd gone a bit overboard due to the stress of writing to Data, but he'd puked the alcohol all up. He can sleep off the rest of it. He'll be fine.

"We need to wash off, Tai. You first. Use the sprayer head. Rinse off." The metal robot follows the directions, but Bruce can hear himself slurring. He focuses on forming his words more carefully. "Now take the soap, Tai, you need to use soap since we don't have your cleanser here. Rub it around, like you did for Mihir's hands when he was little, remember? Good. Now rinse. Make sure it's all off, especially your feet."

While Taisir finishes up, Bruce probes cautiously around the back of his aching skull. A goose egg is already swelling up. He coughs again, which only makes his head hurt worse.

_Being stupid hurts, buddy. How many times do I have to tell you?_

"Would you like me to help you wash, sir? You seem to be in some discomfort."

"Yes, please." Bruce closes his eyes as Tai takes care of him. The warm spray of water feels good, and Tai's hands are so skilled, so gentle. He had spent countless hours engineering those hands -- the sensors, the software, all the redundant safeguards -- before Diya had allowed Taisir to put so much as a finger on the baby. 

"I am finished cleaning you. However, I believe your wrist is injured, Dr. Maddox." 

"Hm?" Bruce opens his eyes and looks at the proffered right arm. The wrist has already started puffing up, and looks like it might bruise a bit. "Just a little sprain, Tai. It'll be fine."

"Shall I dry you off, sir?"

"Yes, but let's hurry. I'm very tired."

He's half asleep by the time Tai has finished toweling him off, and then seats him on the downturned bed. The robot guides his feet into his sleep shorts, and Bruce shifts sleepily to allow Tai to pull them up. Putting on the shirt, though, is a different matter. Getting his sprained wrist through the sleeve is intensely painful. 

"Tai, go replicate a compression wrist bandage, please. Get a cold pad too."

A yawn triggers a bout of coughing, which leaves Bruce awake but feeling more tired than ever. There's a nasty taste in his mouth, and Bruce considers getting up to cleanse his teeth. But he feels weak and the room is actually spinning now, so when the robot returns, Bruce asks him for assistance to the bathroom. Eyes closed, he takes a seat on the toilet lid and gestures for the robot to go ahead and work on his arm.

As gentle as Taisir is, wrapping his wrist turns out to be rather more painful than expected, so Bruce has Tai bring him the various med containers from the drawer. He sorts through the containers, picking out an anti-inflammatory to help take down the swelling, cold medicine with a cough suppressant, and the last of the really good pain meds. The latest antidepressant he tosses aside with disgust; two weeks so far, and it hasn't helped him at all. Tai gets him a glass of water, which leaves him coughing again.

By the time Tai does a quick cleansing of his teeth and combs his hair, Bruce is more than ready to fall into bed. He's asleep before Tai has finished straightening up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe you liked it or maybe it was a trainwreck you couldn't stop watching... let me know? Constructive criticism would be nice.


	5. Jury-Rigged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Faithful friend, at journey's end  
>  The shore that I land on is you  
> The rock that I stand on is you  
> You're like a mountain to me  
> Forever changeless to me  
> (but everything changes)_
> 
> _I can hear the howling hounds not far behind  
>  But I keep my destination clear in mind  
> And the certain sanctuary I will find  
> When I get home to your arms_
> 
> \- Todd Rundgren, _[Living](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=07pZaPh8dME)_

"Dr. Maddox. Dr. Maddox."

"Go away."

"Dr. Maddox, you must wake up. You have a Priority One call." 

"Nnno," Bruce groans. 

Taisir begins shaking his shoulder. "Sir, please wake up. Please wake up." 

Finally the robot tugs on his left arm, pulling Bruce up into a sitting position then using both hands to steady him.

Bruce yawns heavily, which triggers off a coughing spell. He scrubs his good hand across his face, trying to get his weirdly heavy eyelids to open. After a moment, he starts to nod off. 

"Dr. Maddox, please. You must wake up." Tai grips his shoulder more tightly and shakes him.

Bruce groans in weary frustration. All he wants to do is sleep, but once Tai has become this adamant, there is no stopping him. Giving up on opening his eyes, the cyberneticist mumbles, "What is it?"

"You must wake up. You have a Priority One call waiting, sir. You must wake up."

"Shit. Help me to the desk." Bruce coughs so hard that it feels like he's going to hack up a chunk of lung. Both his chest and back hurt. His head too. And why's it so damned hot?

Taisir hoists him to his feet and half-carries him out into the main living space, where Bruce had set up his desk after having his old office converted into his new ground floor bedroom. With the robot's help, Bruce gets himself settled in his chair, wincing at the alert's soft yet mercilessly-pitched beeping. 

"I need coffee. Double caffeine. No, triple."

He slaps blindly at the comm button to initiate the identification sequence. "Commander Bruce Maddox, uhhh..." He can't think of his security code. "Damn it. Cancel."

The glorious scent of approaching black coffee diverts his attention. Nostrils flaring, Bruce unerringly latches onto the mug as soon as it hits the desktop. Unfortunately he inhales the liquid heaven a little too eagerly. 

When he can stop coughing, Bruce says, "Get me a cold wet cloth or something. It's so damned hot in here. Go check the environmentals." 

God, he needs sleep. No, he needs to wake up. "Computer, what time is it?"

"The time is zero-three-thirty-seven."

Not even three hours' sleep, for fuck's sake; no wonder he feels half-dead. Bruce gulps more coffee for the kick of energy he needs to wrap his mind around whatever it is they're calling him about.

"Here, sir." 

Bruce puts down the mostly-empty mug and runs the delightfully icy, damp cloth over his face, neck, and arms. Not quite a new man, but at least he can open his eyes. "Wow, that feels good. Can you make it cold again?"

"Of course, Dr. Maddox."

"You're a lifesaver, Tai. I don't know what I'd do without you."

After another wipedown and time to think, the cyberneticist hits the comm button. "Dr. Bruce Maddox, foxtrot-mike-delta-257-november-sierra-bravo-bravo."

The horrible beeping stops. "Identity verified. Connecting to Priority One channel."

"Bruce!" 

His heart turns over in his chest at the unexpected sight of his lover and those amazing luminous amber eyes, those incredibly soft and kissable pale lips. A familiar wave of desire washes through his body. He sighs longingly, "Hi there, gorgeous."

"Are you all right?" Data is taken aback not only by the slurred compliment, but by Bruce's uncharacteristically disheveled appearance -- in pajamas, no less. 

"Yes." Bruce coughs wetly. "Mostly. I'm getting a cold."

"Are you intoxicated?" 

He finishes his coffee while considering the question. He'd had a few drinks earlier, but wouldn't it have worn off? Then again, Data wouldn't ask if it had. 

"I guess so." Oops. Now that he's paying attention, he realizes it came out as an absurd _I gesh sho._ When his attempt at enunciation fails so that his _shorry_ sounds just as ridiculous, Bruce chortles. Apparently he is three sheets to the wind.

Data furrows his brow. "Did you send me a letter?" 

"Letter? Wha-- oh. Yes." He giggles helplessly at the _yesh_ , but Data's frown gets him back on track. "How did you call me? I blocked you. Or did I?"

Bruce looks around but the metal robot is nowhere to be seen. "Tai, coffee!" Yelling like that unfortunately sets off a coughing spell that leaves his chest aching. 

When he's able to breathe again -- small breaths seem to hurt less -- Data is introducing himself to Taisir, though Data keeps glancing back at Bruce. Of course Taisir has heard all about Bruce's boyfriend, so the robot's responding in verbose greeting mode, as if Data were a long-lost family member. 

Wait, isn't Data his ex-boyfriend because of... that thing with Lore?

Annoyed with his uncooperative memory, Bruce starts in on the new mug of coffee. That kicks off a new spate of phlegmy coughing, so when Bruce gets a moment's reprieve, he asks Tai to fetch some tissues. 

While catching his breath, he plops his aching head on his right hand, only to get a shooting pain in his wrist. The sight of swollen flesh bulging out both sides of a compression bandage is wholly unexpected. 

"Why is your arm so swollen?" Data says sharply.

"It's nothing. Listen--"

"Taisir, what happened to his arm?"

"Dr. Maddox fell into the tub, sir."

Then Bruce remembers that Lore might try to hurt Data, so he's saving Data by breaking up with him. He has to be firm about it. 

"Look, Data, what do you want? You aren't supposed to contact me."

"We need to discuss this letter."

"I'm not talking to you any more and even if I am..." He can't quite figure out where he's going with that, and finishes gamely with, "The thing. You know. That... oh. Lore."

Data is deeply exasperated. "Who is responsible for apprehending Lore?" 

"What?"

"Who is in charge of finding Lore?"

"Uhh..." What? Why the hell is Data asking him? 

"Captain Picard is tasked with that responsibility for all Starfleet units. Therefore, is it likely that I read a report last night about a potential sighting of my brother?"

"...yes?"

"A report noting that the lone witness -- my boyfriend -- was in significant distress but refused treatment. Then I receive an unexpected breakup letter from said distressed boyfriend, who I discover is heavily inebriated, despite not being one to imbibe, and who is not only ill, but has has quite obviously injured himself in his drunken state."

"But Data--" A coughing fit prevents Bruce from continuing.

"I am concerned for your wellbeing. I am contacting emergency services."

"I don't need that."

"Please listen to me. You need help." 

" _You're_ the one in danger! Can't you see what Lore's trying to do?"

"Explain it to me." Brow furrowed, Data listens carefully to the rambling explanation, interrupted by several bouts of wet coughing. 

"Lore is highly unlikely to attempt any such plan. The risks are far greater than any potential reward or advantage that he might hope to gain."

"But what if he hurts you?" 

"Bruce, I appreciate your concern, but I want a doctor to examine you. You are not yourself tonight."

"I'm a little bit drunk, that's all. I'm fine." He coughs wetly; nasty phlegm is gumming up his throat. "Tai, get me more tissues. More coffee too."

"You are not fine. That cough worries me, as does your arm."

"So I'll take some cold medicine, all right? As for my arm, it doesn't even hurt."

"From its appearance, it should be quite painful."

"It isn't." Bruce coughs yet again, trying to clear the gunk out of his airway. It seems like it's getting harder to fill his aching chest, and he's feeling more than a bit dizzy. "Data, I'm very tired and I want to go lie down. If I don't feel better tomorrow, I'll consider going to Sickbay."

"No, Bruce. Tonight. Something is wrong. I know why you are reluctant to seek care but truly, there is no need to feel ashamed. Your father warned me about your medical conditions, since he was concerned that the incident with my brother..."

Data's voice fades out as overwhelming humilation and suffocating fear close in. Why would his dad tell? When Bruce was diagnosed at ten, they said he wasn't allowed to tell and he never had, not even Diya. But she eventually figured out what a hopeless mess he was, and left.

And now Data will too, now that he knows precisely how pathetic Bruce is; that the appearance of competence and self-assurance is just a facade; that his contemptible weakness is the reason he's a failure, why he'll always be a failure... 

As Bruce wraps his arms around himself in humiliation, the rattling coughs start again. This time they don't stop. When he tries to catch his breath, he can only wheeze ineffectually. As his vision narrows in, Bruce can vaguely hear Data calling for Tai.

The last thing he's aware of is tipping sideways towards the floor.

*****

It's like floating on a calm, warm sea. So comfortable. Weightless. His empty mind is quiescent, just floating along aimlessly on top of gentle swells of contentment. Bruce can tell he's been drugged, but the knowledge just doesn't hold any importance or urgency. Neither does whoever keeps calling his name, so he just serenely floats on, thinking nothing at all.

*****

It's a quiet room, dimly lit as if for night time, but it's part of Sickbay, judging from the glowing biodisplay panels. Bruce isn't sure why he's there but it doesn't seem very important at all and besides, he feels so wonderful, so very relaxed and cozy. It must not be anything too serious. He yawns, and nestles his cheek into the soft pillow. While he's not particularly tired, it's so comfortable that it should be easy to fall asleep again. 

Bruce is just beginning to nod off when he hears, "Computer, lights to 50%." He sits up immediately when he realizes it's Glover.

"Please just relax, Bruce. It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?" The tall sturdily-built physician pulls a chair over towards the biobed.

"I'm fine," Bruce says hesitantly. "Why am I here?"

"You had an interesting night after you left Sickbay last evening. You don't remember?"

"Not exactly," he hedges. 

"Let's talk a little bit about you before we go into all that, all right?"

"Okay." It's hard to feel worried with all the feel-good drugs Bruce knows must be in his system, but he's sure some kind of trap is being laid.

Dr. Glover glances over at the biodisplay panel, so Bruce looks over too. Shit. His heart and respiration rate have jumped up. 

"Please try to relax. There's absolutely nothing to be worried about. We're only going to talk. I do have a few questions that I have to ask, but they're just routine. Just protocol, all right?"

"All right." Bruce surreptitiously tries to control his breathing.

"I know you've been very concerned about Lore. Did anything happen after you left here last night?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you see Lore again? Or hear him?"

Bruce has to think about that. He remembers going home and talking to Tai. Starting to write to Data. After that it gets hazy, but surely he would remember Lore. "No." 

"Do you recall if you were upset about anything?"

"Upset? No. But I was naturally concerned about Lore."

"Because he returned to your lab?"

"Yes, of course."

"And because he might try to hurt Commander Data?"

"Don't you think that's a valid concern?"

"All right. Let's move on. Do you routinely consume alcohol?"

"No, not routinely. Look, what is this all about?" 

"Have you had any thoughts about harming yourself?"

"Why would you ask me that?" Bruce sees where it's going now. Well, fuck that.

Glover holds up a hand. "Relax, it's just a routine question. Have you?"

"No, I have not! And that's it, I'm not answering any more questions. I want to know what's going on." He glances at the doorway to the main Sickbay. "On second thought, never mind. I'm leaving." He swings his legs over the side of the biobed. 

"Bruce, you very nearly died last night."

That stops the cyberneticist cold. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that you're extremely lucky to be alive. If it weren't for your robot and Commander Data, you would have died."

"What?" 

"It's not surprising that you can't remember. If you like, you can read the investigator's report for yourself later. You were beamed here unconscious, dangerously hypoxic, secondary to aspiration pneumonia from a near drowning, complicated by respiratory depression from alcohol mixed with the definitely contraindicated drug metorapan. That's on top of alcohol poisoning, sleep deprivation, severe dehydration, and a fractured wrist. Oh, and anterograde amnesia." 

Dr. Glover takes in Bruce's stunned silence. "I told you that you had an interesting evening. Luckily, because your boyfriend called for help in time, you shouldn't suffer any permanent ill effects. But let me reiterate what I said to you earlier: you are extremely lucky to be alive.

"I can see that's a lot for you take in all at once, so I'm going to let you think about your close call for a while. We'll talk more before I go offshift in the morning, but I want you to understand that you need to stay here for a few days while we work on getting you on an even keel, in terms of medications and sleep. All right?"

"I'm not staying here."

"We had this conversation last night, and leaving didn't turn out well for you, did it? Please, be safe and stay here tonight."

"I'm willing to come back for a test or two, but I'm not staying."

"Well, far be it from me to argue with you." The doctor slaps his hands on his thighs, gets up and walks away. 

Dr. Glover abruptly halts in the doorway and turns around. "Oh, I almost forgot. Commander Data wanted to speak with you. Due to privacy restrictions, we weren't permitted to share information on your condition. But it would probably be easier on you if you let me explain the medical details to your boyfriend."

Bruce chews his lip. "You can talk to him about my physical issues. Uh, and the amnesia. I don't want him to know about... the rest."

"I'm sure Commander Data would be supportive of your mental issues. He seems very concerned about you."

"He doesn't need to know. I'm ending our relationship."

"Bruce, I think you should reconsider that. Especially now, isolating yourself isn't helpful--" 

"I don't think my personal life is really your concern, is it?"

"Arguably it is for mental illness like yours, in which support of friends and family is very important," Dr. Glover says mildly. "But never mind that right now. l did promise to let your boyfriend know when you were well enough to take his call. Let me find out if he's available -- he mentioned something about bridge duty."

"Thank you," Bruce replies stiffly. 

He looks around the room, vainly trying to discern where they're keeping his clothing. Oh well. Time enough for that after he does what he must, for Data's sake. 

*****

"It'll just be another few minutes for your call, Dr. Maddox," the nurse says, as she takes away his largely untouched dinner tray. 

When Bruce realizes he's chewing his thumbnail, he deliberately grips the handheld comm unit with both hands to keep them occupied. Even with the drugs on board, he is having a hard time keeping his anxiety under control. He hasn't seen or communicated with Data since before Lore's assault, and the thought of having to face him after the previous night's debacle is nerve-wracking. 

With no real memory of what had happened after he began working on the letter to Data, reading the investigator's report had been a shock. Very nearly drowning then slowly suffocating... no wonder Glover had questioned him about self-harming. At least the brief statements from Data and Tai made it clear that what had happened wasn't intentional. 

Regardless, he's never going to hear the end of it. As a kid, his dad had warned him and his brother countless times that nothing good came from alcohol, and that even synthehol usage was a gift to one's enemies. 

Worst of all, Data is bound to be upset about having found himself in the middle of another medical crisis, just months after the runabout crash. They don't talk about that, since Bruce can tell whatever happened was horribly upsetting for Data, and now his stupidity has done it again. On top of all that, he's got to break up with Data without letting him realize it's to protect him against his own brother. 

Bruce lays the comm padd down on his thighs and wraps his arms around the familiar burning pain in his belly. 

And then Data is there, on the screen. 

He keeps his eyes down. "Data, I'm so sorry about what happened last night. Apparently you had to save me again, and I never wanted to put you in another distressing situation like that. Of course I don't expect you to forgive me; my stupidity and selfishness were completely unforgivable. And I think it's better if we stop seeing each other. You should be with somebody much better than me." 

The silence stretches out. Data sighs heavily. "What am I to do with you?"

"If you want to yell at me, go right ahead. I know I deserve it."

"I am not going to yell at you. I might have been angry, had I not spent much of my day talking with Counselor Troi. Instead, I find myself concerned with the way you prioritize my wellbeing relative to your own. 

"However, this is not the time for that conversation. You need rest. All I will say is that we have already discussed your fear that Lore may use you to harm me. I am now aware of that danger, so there is no need for us to terminate our relationship."

"But what if Lore--"

Data interrupts gently. "Then we will face that situation. As we will face your mental health challenges."

"Glover had no right to say anything about that!"

"Calm yourself. Look at me. Please. You have been avoidant tonight, but please look at me." 

Bruce swallows hard, then lifts his eyes to meet Data's steady, compassionate gaze.

"Your father shared your medical history after my brother attacked you. There is no shame in suffering from mental illness. I wish you could believe that it has never been weakness on your part. Please, stay in Sickbay and receive the care you need and deserve. Will you do that for me?"

Not trusting his voice, Bruce nods tremulously. He doesn't want to stay any more than he had earlier, but it's not in him to refuse Data anything. 

"Thank you. It will take time and it will not be easy, but you _can_ feel better. Your father and I are determined to support you every step of the way. We will talk of these matters again, but for now, it is time for your medication, so I must say goodnight. Sleep well, my dear." 

****

Someone is clearing their throat. Bruce hastily wipes his eyes on the back of his hands, and looks up guiltily.

Dr. Glover is in the doorway with several hyposprays in his hand. "I know that must been a very difficult conversation for you, but we're going to help you get well," he says gently. "Right now, though, it's important that you rest."

He approaches the biobed and holds up the hyposprays. "This is the same medication you were given this morning, but with the doses adjusted as needed. 

"This first hypo has a broad spectrum antibiotic. This one has a blend of central/ peripheral acting musculoskeletal relaxants so your chronic muscle spasms won't be an issue tonight. Now this one is an anxiolytic/ antidepressant mix, and the last one is improvoline. By the way, I annotated your record so that it's okay for you to inspect any hypo to verify what you're being given."

Holding fast to the promise he'd made to Data, Bruce doesn't ask to see the drugs and instead turns his face away, offering his neck. His breath hitches as one by one, the unwanted hypos hiss against his carotid. 

"I also want you to know that while you're sleeping, we'll run the first of a series of scans, metabolisation studies, and therapeutic drug monitoring panels. That way we can begin to better assess what medications work best with your body.

"Data told me that you enjoy having someone tell you about their day and hold your hand while you fall asleep. He asked me to check if you want me to do that for you. The nurses have everything under control at the moment, and I don't mind. But it's all right, whatever you choose."

"I don't want anyone touching me." Only Data, Bruce reassures himself. Lore won't, ever again. 

"Perfectly understandable. Would you like me to tell you a little about the wrist injury we repaired for you?" Dr. Glover dims the lights and moves his chair a bit further away from the bio bed. 

In short order the doctor has demonstrated, on his own arm, the difference in how Colles' and Smiths' distal radius fractures occur -- Bruce's had been the former -- and are treated. But before Dr. Glover can really get going on his animated discussion of the most common carpal bone fractures (scaphoid, triquetrum, trapezium and lunate), Bruce has fallen fast asleep.

Dr. Glover stops speaking and gazes thoughtfully at the slumbering man who will likely remain one of their more challenging patients. Those in well-established denial are always tough patients. Much more work remains, especially for the counselors, but now that Data is exerting his influence, the doctor feels much more optimistic.

It's already been an exhausting night shift, and it's not even half over. As he heads to check in again on the next patient, Dr. Glover reminds himself that all of his remaining patients should recover fully. Between that and Bruce's greatly improved prognosis, the doctor decides that he can put this night in the win column.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and especially constructive criticism are welcome. Thanks for reading.


End file.
